


say little, show all

by gael_itarille



Category: The Hobbit - All Media Types, The Lord of the Rings - All Media Types
Genre: Angst with a Happy Ending, Armor, Caring Thranduil, Elves, Father-Son Relationship, Good Parent Thranduil, Hopeful Ending, Injury, Light Angst, Mild Hurt/Comfort, Mirkwood, Other, Pre-War of the Ring, Young Legolas Greenleaf
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-09-16
Updated: 2019-09-16
Packaged: 2020-10-19 09:43:15
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,335
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20655152
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/gael_itarille/pseuds/gael_itarille
Summary: He has never told his son of his pride nor his gratitude. Yet, Legolas understands all the same.





	say little, show all

**Author's Note:**

> A small fic involving a head-cannon I had about Thranduil having trouble expressing his emotions.
> 
> Enjoy! xx

You are young- delicate and frail; unweathered by the dangers of the world. You have not yet learned speech, and your legs are shakier than the most newborn of fawns, but you can smile. It is a bright, and happy smile- and it never fails to spur my own. You enrapture me so- with your giggles and your babbling. You, my child, have mellowed me. I am softer now- much too soft to rule, but I cannot hold that against you. Perhaps you are more than I can bear- much more than I can comprehend. You are too much of your mother and too much of me. You are too much of this world, entirely.

When the forest is weary, you are intent on rousing the sun herself. It seems as if your cries echoes through every corridor, and with surety do I predict the wakefulness that you have inspired. You are...annoying, _ionneg_. Astoundingly so. Silence cannot thrive in the wake your tantrums- I doubt the sleep of our subjects could. But, you are soothing, in some convoluted way. Sorrow lasts lesser than night's peace in your presence, and that is a gift. You are a gift- as loud and preposterous your wails may be. Undeniably, my eyes have never closed for more than a moment, but you have spared me from the nightmares that may have come. I suppose I should thank you. But that is hard, and I feel the steep climb of such a gesture. Instead, I press a kiss to your temple, and you grin all the same. 

The breastplate is more your tortoiseshell than your future armour. In fact, it is mine- polished and gleaming, and somehow on the floor with you. Had you curled yourself into the hollow, I might not have witnessed your antics at all. Despite your misbehaving, I chortle lightly. You are ridiculous, bowled over onto your back in intricate silver- boots flailing wildly in an amusing effort to right yourself. I have barely the notion to aid you, little leaf, until you reach for me with a pout and a glare. As I lift the equipment over your head, you rush forward, clanging your forehead against metal with surprising force. Such a clumsy thing you are. I ought to have taught you better. Nevertheless, you keep running, crashing into my robes with anguished breaths. Your grip on my robes tight, I lift you up- more worried about the red welt on your head than what should be reasonable. It will heal in a few days time, of course- the Valar have given us such abilities, but I walk the paths to the infirmary in its spite. There is a salve to cool your pain, and the thought of a few more hours with you is calming; healing. The kingdom passes by with words of comfort. Guards and kitchen staff alike whisper reassurances to you and your grateful nods light up their eyes. Behind us, _Eryn Galen_'s corridors are content. You are the joy of this kingdom, _las-nin_. You delight my people and the wood-dwellers, and you delight me. It seems I should offer you my gratitude. Yet the words only bubble in my chest futilely, squashed down by an unknown block that is unmoveable. While you doze under the tranquillity of the healing ward, I busy myself- sketching the beginnings of a wooden bow fit for only the most talented of elflings. I trace the roots of the trees and the grace of the blooms. Intricate, yet strong. That shall be your bow- made from the heartwood of the most resilient yew. The weapon will suit you well, of that I am sure. Perhaps I will even forge it myself. 

I miss watching a moon of your archery lessons to complete your bow- and you are, quite simply, upset. It is obvious, though you neither speak nor allude to it. Your distance grows- words softer and fewer with every event unattended. You seek a rift between us...and that is painful. It is a fear of mine- one I have not told you and hope never to utter. But I say nothing. Though my heart yearns to rid itself of this persistent ache, I keep silent. This bow shall be a surprise- something I cannot ruin. At times, I feel as if my very parentage will ruin you, my greenleaf. Despite this, I pray that a bow will erase your doubts regarding my affections. For your happiness, crafting a bow is but a stream compared to the ocean of things I would do for you. 

You receive the bow on your birthday. I watch you carefully, and your expression, most recently soiled by your insecurity and sadness, morphs into one of understanding. Your exuberance is blinding. You, _ion-nin_, are more intelligent than I could have dreamed, and I am prouder than I could have imagined. It is prime time you are made aware of that. But my lips cease movement, and I can simply look on as your notch an arrow- firing it straight into the centre of your target. 

There is blood on your tunic.

I.

Am.

Paralyzed. 

And then I am terrified.

There is blood on your tunic- _Valar_\- there is blood on your tunic and on your boots and I can smell it on you and the red stains your hair and it is even on your hands, dear _Varda_-

Maybe it was your tears that shook me out of my stupor.

You had gone on patrol with Ferdan's squadron- something you certainly had the skill for. But you are not prepared for the horrors of the wood, no matter how swift your arrows. You are so, so reckless. But that is more my fault than yours. You are a mirror of my teachings- for every mistake you have made would have been birthed from my flaws. Suddenly, I regret giving you permission to leave, and somehow, you know. You cease your speech- squeezing my hand tighter. You are _such_ a perfect son. I do not deserve you on the best of nights, and despite that, you are here, presenting me with the solace I should have given you. Gathering your frame in my arms- limbs trembling and I despise that, for you cannot see me this way. I am weak. You take no notice. When your tale is over and recounted, I tend to your wounds- applying althelas to your scrapes and the fresh gash on your forehead. I do it with as much tenderness as I can muster- wrapping your cuts in bandages with care I never thought real. Whatever duties I have mattered not now- for you are safe; whole and _alive_. After the stinging of the herbs and the remedies fade away, you leap into a much-needed embrace. The idea crosses my mind for a moment - one moment only- that maybe you find comfort in me. It is a silly thought- and I shun it- but it is there, and... something I would not like to dispel. You thank me before the moon opens her eyes- wholeheartedly, genuinely- and I realize that you are... admirable. Rushing into thickets to save your people and your comrades- sensing my adoration of you, even when I lack the words for its manifestation. 

Impulsive, yes, but admirable.

I do not tell you. The block is still there- obstructing what must be said. Although, it is looser now- and I sense its tipping point is near. That day will come, and you will astound me with your qualities time and time again, until I can speak of my love at last. For now, I opt to leave my bedchamber door open- the corner of my blanket overturned slightly. You enter as silently as you can, though I can hear your fatigue. I can sense your love. 

I will not rush to the day when I can utter all I wish to.

For now, you understand. That is quite enough for me. 

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you for reading! Please, let me know what you thought in the comments!


End file.
